Nightmare Fuel
by LackingCandor
Summary: When a kidnapped and injured Batman discovers Scarecrow's plan to release a deadly new fear gas into the streets of Gotham on Halloween, he, joined by Catwoman, has three days to bring down the mad doctor before everyone finds something to be afraid of.
1. Awake

Chapter 1

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he heard the hollowest kind of clink, like a bottle had been knocked over.

Bruce's eyes snapped open, cracking the crusted piles of gunk that still clung to his eyelids. The heavy taste of stone slid past his bruised lips as he sucked in cold, musty air off the floor. He twitched a couple fingers and kicked his leg just enough straighten it—everything still seemed so be working.

Chewing on his last bits of adrenaline, he tried to sit up, only to be thrown back down by a blinding pain all along his abdomen.

"Damn it," he muttered out the corner of his mouth through labored breaths. He had to call Alfred, Alfred would take the pain away.

Bruce closed his eyes. Where was he? All he could remember was chasing someone—a shadow— a puff of smoke in his face, then falling, falling off the side of a roof. His arms flapping uselessly at his sides. Falling, falling, falling, then nothing. As his side cramped painfully again, it seemed to matter less. He just needed out.

Scraping his gloved hand roughly along the floor, he felt for a bell that wasn't there. He was alone. Nobody was coming to get him. His fingers struck a stone barrier just over a foot away—he might be able to reach it.

Bruce took a deep breath, feeling cracked ribs slide painfully back into place, and gritting his teeth, pushed himself up so his back rested against the wall.

For a moment , everything was still, somehow serene in the empty blackness. Then he exhaled, and the rushing wave of white-hot pain nearly made him black out again. Holding in a scream of agony, another blast of it washed over him much the same a speeding truck would. Glittering red stars filled his vision, and a gurgling groan leaked out his contorted lips.

The hand that wasn't clutching his side scrambled toward his utility belt, leaping from pocket to pocket for the stash of painkillers Alfred had insisted he take since . . . since . . . he couldn't remember why. His memory was a soupy mess tossed about by the lightening storm spurting forth from his chest.

Popping open the pocket, Bruce yanked out one of the tiny syrettes, bit the cap off with his teeth and jammed its sharp proboscis into his thigh, crossing his fingers he didn't hit armor plate. He didn't feel the sting of the needle, but within seconds, the pulsing fire in his chest had cooled to a dull ache.

Bruce breathed a sigh of relief, and it was then that he saw her.

"Selina?" he gasped.

Selina Kyle, in her full Catwoman garb sat in a metal chair against the wall opposite him. It looked at though her hands were bound behind her back, and shallow cuts lay on her face and arms, a few still oozing blood. She said nothing, just gave him a confused, babyish look that he didn't recognize.

"Are you alright?" The nervous twinge in his voice cracked like broken glass in the still air. "Selina?" She shook her head slowly.

"No." Before her lips even had a chance to close, there was a screeching thud of a metal being pried apart, somewhere deep into the blackness beyond them. The crunching of footsteps over gravel echoed dully in Bruce's ears.

"Show yourself!" he growled, trying to prop himself up against the wall, but couldn't get his footing. The footsteps continued, coughing around his ears in circles. Bruce looked up at Selina, who still stared at him with a pair of watery, innocent eyes that didn't quite fit her.

A shadow passed in front of his face, but when he reached out, all he caught was air. A cackle whispered from the walls. Bruce gritted his teeth and tried to keep himself calm. Stranded, injured, and calm. A tiny itch crawled up the back of his neck.

Fear.

Suddenly, the shadow passed in front of him again, and materialized itself in front of Selina, burnt red eyes twinkling. It drew a knife. Bruce frantically pushed himself up the wall.

"Get back!" Still, Selina was silent, watching him carefully, as if waiting for advice. Desperation. He knew that look.

He manged to throw himself onto his feet and scrambled forward, only too be carelessly thrown back into the wall with the force of a solid kick. His chest burned and seemed to explode beneath his suit as he hit the ground. Bruce wanted to yell out in pain, but some instinct told him not to. Selina didn't blink. Was that fear, he saw?

The figure slid the knife up to her throat, calm as the summer wind and caressed the silky flesh with his new razor-sharp finger. Bruce stopped squirming and let his eyes grow wide. His breath caught painfully in his throat. Some sickening force had grabbed his gullet wouldn't let go.

Fear.

"Put the knife down!" he spat, almost pleaded. He couldn't look Selina in the eye. They seemed sad, like he had failed her. Had he?

Bruce summoned up what was left of his drive and tried to set his feelings aside. She was just another person. Don't get involved, he had always told himself. Never liked testing it. In that second, his memory flashed to that moment on the Fourth of July when she lay in his arms, eyes glowing with fireworks and sunflowers. She didn't know who he was at night. He fought Catwoman that night without so much as a flutter of guilt.

The knife bit into her flesh, and he gasped louder than she did as rosy beads of blood dripped onto her suit. The shadow cackled beneath its hood.

Bruce tried to pry himself up again, but nothing wanted to work. All he could do was stare.

"Batman can't save everyone," it whispered in a voice like blended nails. With a motion like almost like a wave goodbye, it dug the knife in and drew it across Selina's throat. Bruce thought he might have shouted out, but couldn't be sure. It was an blank moment, frozen in time. Selina Kyle was . . . no, he couldn't accept it

As droplets of blood peppered the ground, the figure seemed to grin with its eyes, hissing delight as Bruce's face contorted into a terrifying muted fury.

Selina's face spun in front of Bruce's face, white and cold. It spun round and melted into the slim, boyish face of Jason Todd, who melted into his mother, into his father. Bruce clamped his eyes shut and tried to bring himself back to earth. As he opened them, Selina's empty face danced in front of his, whispering something. He felt a strand of her slip down past his face, rough and . . . Rough?

"Hold it," Bruce muttered. Selina's face froze. His shaking fingers waltzed down to his chest, plucking the strands of hair up and holding them before his eyes. Blonde, no yellow. Rough. Musty.

"SCARECROW!" Bruce bellowed, snatching up Selina's face in front of him, which dissolved into Jonathan Crane's wicked burlap mask. More wisps of hay fluttered down onto him. Crane startled under Bruce's palms, but then sniggered.

"Oooh, look, he's found me out," Crane laughed, cocking his head, "Tell me, Bats, what did you see? Was it _terrible_? The look on your face! And the things you said!"

"What did you do to me, Crane?" Bruce demanded, tightening his grip. Crane kicked him hard in the stomach, doubling him over in pain as his ribs burned and yowled.

"It's called 'Nightmare Fuel'! I needed _somebody _to test out the new formula, and I thought to myself, 'who could really use a bit of scare?' Who better to try it than the man that feels no fear? Well, until _now_. I take it that it worked well?" Bruce wheezed out a curse, unable to move. Being kidnapped was less a humbling experience as a bitter one. "Good." The edges of the mask shifted, as if it was smiling. "I guess I'll just double the dose then for distribution. I hear there's a lot of parties going down in a couple days, if my calender is right."

Bruce froze.

"You can't mean . . ."

"Halloween just isn't scary for me anymore. It makes me sad. I've resolved this year to make sure everyone has a bit of fun for me." Crane giggled. "Or a lot."

"You're coming with me," Bruce groaned, pulling himself up. Crane skipped back up to him.

"Afraid not, Bats." He grabbed Bruce roughly by the shoulders and pushed him up against another wall. Pale moonlight seeped through a barred window behind him. "You're just going have to watch." With that, he kicked the bars out of their crumbling frame and began to push Bruce's limp body through. Bruce struggled but Crane sharply elbowed him in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him.

"That is," Crane hissed, "if this doesn't scare you to death!" and shoved Bruce headfirst out the window, into the night. "Hope you're not afraid of heights, too!"


	2. Morning

**A/N: My Selina character in this chapter is a bit, shall we say, soft. I'm reworking her a bit for the next chapter, so hold on.**

Chapter 2

Falling through the sky, Bruce tried weakly to right himself, and finally managed to work his cape open, as the streets became visible under him. He glided up, breathing a pained sigh of relief.

His ragged body though the moonlight like a ship through water as he wiped beads of sweat and blood off his lips and reached for the communicator at his belt. He clicked it to no response. _Click. Click._ With a third tap of the button the light fizzled on, then burst, a hiss of silvery gas sputtering forth.

Bruce growled. Crane had drenched his whole suit in the stuff.

As he sailed silently back to earth, Bruce scanned the streets flying by beneath him for—there it was—a pay phone. Arching his back with a fresh flash of fire in his ribs, he flew into a sudden dive.

Sooty Gotham wind whipped past his face as the cracks in the sidewalk grew nearer, nearer, nearer. With a hushed whoosh ten feet from collision, he pulled open the flaps of his cape, letting his body float to the ground, still a little too fast. He landed hard, leaking an agonizing cloud in front of his eyes, and stumbled over to the rusted out box.

Drawing a batarang out from its pocket, Bruce slid the blade down into the coin slot. Alfred's drugs were wearing off fast—his whole side was ablaze, vision beyond a couple inches had melted into a puddle of mud. The click from the coin register sounded—Bruce felt his head hit the wall of the booth as his fingers dialed almost automatically.

_Ring, ring._

Bruce flopped to the floor as his legs grew numb and gave out.

_Ring_— "Wayne residents?"

"Alfred." he groaned.

"Master Bruce?" Bruce shook his head roughly and leveled his eyes on the building behind him. For a moment, he could see the silhouette of the window he had fallen from, and plastered on the rooftop sign, faded steel letters: G.S.P.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred's voice repeated out the speaker, unbearably steady.

"I need help," Bruce choked out. Even though that sinking feeling that his lungs were caving in upon themselves, his pride stung a little worse. "I'm out in Sommerset." His head was a swirling typhoon, slowly sucking back into itself. "Near the old Gotham Pen." Every moment was another battle against his eyelids.

"I'll send for Master Grayson right away."

"No!" A sudden well within his brain had burst in protest, drenching his dry neurons with another ten seconds of moonlight. "Get . . . Selina." Bruce didn't know why he said it. He just needed to see the life in her eyes. Just to be sure.

"Of course, sir."

Kneeling there in the rusted out phone booth, losing consciousness, Bruce let the sharp angles of Selina Kyle's face seep like melting butter onto the crevices of his thoughts, occupying that bright corner of his mind, latching him to its bosom so as to bar him from oblivion for just one day longer.

He lay next to Selina in the greenest stretch of the park, cradling her warmly under the light of Gotham's Autumn sun. He clung close, knowing what lay before him should he release. It didn't matter if he was dreaming or not—he had this moment. In it, he had the calm and closeness Batman never could.

For a moment, he was jealous of the Bat. "To speak a cliché," he told Selina's unabashed grin, "he can't lose what he never had."

"That sounds like a sad existence," she said dreamily.

"What can I do? Crime won't stop for his happiness."

"You can live," Selina whispered in his ear, then lifted her arms off him.

"Don't leave yet."

"I'll wait," she said, "I promise."

* * *

><p>Everything was as it should have been when Bruce awoke. Creamy white curtains rippled boisterously just past the foot of his bed, silence hummed dully throughout the halls of Wayne Manor, tossed and crumpled bedsheets had wrapped themselves snugly about his midsection, and a freshly tuned comlink lay a tiny circle table next to him. The comlink was silent.<p>

Gingerly, Bruce eased up, propping himself against a pile of pillows. His whole side was sore up and down its entirety. He tipped himself for side to side and twisted about his waist—it still felt like Bane had lain a punch square into his side, he sourly noted, but this was at least manageable. Slipping the covers down off his bare chest, he bore witness to a nasty series of yellow, blue and black bruises coating what seemed to be half of his torso. He could distinctly make out the hollow space where the three broken ribs were all but floating in muscle tissue.

"Black and blue isn't really your color," chided an all to familiar voice. He looked up into the face of Selina Kyle. She was smiling, and smooth, black bangs swayed playfully over her eyes. "You know what? I think it's your eyes—completely wrong shade."

He couldn't help but let slip a grin.

"They clash," she explained.

"You've grown your hair out," Bruce noted, cocking his head. "Thank you for getting me back here in one piece,"

"One piece is a bit of a relative term," Selina said, "You were a mess when we brought you in. I've never seen Alfred in such a fuss as when he was working on you." For a moment, Bruce was reminded of of his father bent over a wheezing patient who stumbled to their door in the middle of the night.

"You obviously haven't seen him when he finds weeds in the rose bushes," Bruce said, wondering where the old butler was off to right now. "Were you able to find me alright?"

"Yeah. I got the call while I was patrolling the East End. Albert gave me directions. Bit of drive though, even on my bike."

"I can compensate your expenses if you wish. Consider it a _validated expenditure_."

"Oh, Bruce," Selina swooned, "I love it when you talk_ business_ to me." He gave her a reproachful look, but figured he owed her one.

"Lawful tax-exemption. Board meeting. _R&D_." He said that last one with a such passion that Selina was sent rolling onto the bed, at his feet, clutching her own side as she erupted into a fit of giggles.

"Oh, mister Wayne," she laughed, "with a mouth like that, I'm surprised you don't have women hanging all over you." He managed a hoarse chuckle.

"It takes a special kind to appreciate it." Flipping over on the mattress, Selina gazed at him with big green eyes and took the scene in for a moment, recognizing it for the rare pearl it was.

"I'm surprised you called me, though," Selina said, "considering Superman could have gotten there in what, a blink of an eye? No doubt he owes you a favor or two."

"Or two," Bruce admitted, shaking his head. "I—" The abandoned cell flashed back into his mind, black and endless. Selina. The figure. The knife. "You were just the first person who came to mind, I guess. I didn't have much time to weigh my options." Selina smiled knowingly.

"Well, it was a good excuse to visit. What were you doing all the way up their, Bruce?" It all suddenly flashed back to him. Scarecrow's mottled mask cackled maniacally in his mind, whispering his plan in his memory's ear. Eyes wide as saucer plates, he tried to get up, but Selina, grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back into the mound of pillows.

"What's today?" Bruce demanded.

"Monday morning, the twenty-ninth—what's wrong?" He slumped back into the pillows, that moment of pastoral patience lost to them.

"Scarecrow's created a new batch of fear gas. It's a lot more potent than before." Selina looked suddenly worried.

"Did he use it on you? Is that why you were out there last night?"

"That's how I know it works," Bruce said, shrugging of the chills crawling up his back. A dark, endless room. A hissing figure. The knife. "Crane knocked me out and kidnapped me, wanted me as his 'test subject' to make sure it was powerful enough.

"Powerful enough for what?"

"To drive people out of their minds with fear. He's planning on dropping loads of it into parties on Halloween night." Bruce tried to get up again, but Selina blocked him.

"Look," she said, "I know what you're thinking, but you need _rest_!"

"We barely have three days to get the gas out of his hands, or Arkham's going to be looking at a lot more patients! I need to get back out there."

"No, Bruce! You're in pieces enough as it is."

"I can rest afterward," he said, jumping up and pushing past her and throwing a robe over himself. "I don't have time to wait. My city needs me."

"Bruce!" It wasn't a cry of anger. Not of frustration, or defiance, or desperation. It was a plea. It was a trickle of liquid worry trailing off her lips. He stopped, and his face fell.

"I'm sorry." He threw himself down on the armchair across the room and kneaded at his eyes. "I'm sorry, Selina. I've seen what this stuff can do, and if I don't stop him . . ." His voice trailed off and dropped.

"Please," she said. "Just wait awhile, until you get your strength back." He stood up.

"No. I can't. I'm sorry," he repeated. As his hand gripped the doorknob, she cried out to him.

"At least let me help you." He looked at her for what seemed like an hour. Her eyes were hard and anchored, but behind them, a twinkle of something shone.

Fear. Fear of what?

Bruce saw the room close in upon them, saw inky, cloaked creatures and their eyes like dying embers. That bloodstained knife reflected in her dead, glassy eyes. She couldn't see any of it. He didn't want her to. He should just say "no", and he knew it.

Selina whispered: "This is my city too."

He should just say "no".

"Let's go, then," Bruce said. As Selina grinned and hugged him around the neck, part of him wanted to run and hide from her. Get himself away before she got hurt again. Looking down, he could still see the scars where Hush had sliced her open. He realized what he was feeling.

Fear.


	3. Foiled Again

Chapter 3

"There are times," Bruce explained to Selina as they gazed upon the writing tentacles snaking their way out the front doors of Arkham, "that make for really poor interviews."

"I take it this in one of those?"

"Not yet," he said, kicking open the doors, fading afternoon sun revealing a mess of leaves and twitching branches. Poison Ivy worked quicker than her name suggested, stringing them up before they could say a single word. Selina twisted out of her grip even faster though, back on her feet and running in less than two seconds. Had Bruce not been throwing a twisting vine off his throat, he might have applauded.

"Ivy!" Selina called, "Dry up your little weeds and get down here! We don't have time for this tonight!" An unearthly wail seemed to scream back at her from every corner of the room, as a branch shot a thick barb spinning past her ears.

"Why are you smiling?" growled Bruce heavily, now pulling at the vines that bound his legs up to the knees. Selina, dove over his head and sliced apart the the vines, letting them spin off like writing tentacles.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've seen some real action?" she said, a savage sort of look taking her eyes and she cut apart another with her claws. The cry deepened with every slash, singing in some sort of guttural whistle.

Now free, Bruce drew a pair of batarangs and began clawing his way up the mass of greenery that had amassed in the center of the floor. It shook like it was about to be sick in a half halfhearted attempt to buck him off. As Selina jumped off a particularly thick vine she was scampering across and latched on next to him, a thorny vine swept up, casting them up in the air and letting them fall unaided back to the cement below. Bruce landed hard on his back, shock pads taking most of the blow, but it still knocked the wind out of him and sent a bolt of pain up through his battered side. Selina landed almost gracefully next to him, giving him a surreptitious wink, before throwing herself back at Ivy's mass of foliage.

"Come on Ivy, this isn't exactly fair!" Selina said up into the rafters, "If you don't want to play anymore, just give up! You don't have to throw the fight!" The howl intensified, ringing in Bruce's ears so loud he considered dropping the green arm he was breaking apart to cover his ears.

"Can you not antagonize her further!" he yelled over the noise to Selina.

"Come on, Bats, where's your sense of adventure?" Ducking a barrage of thorns, Bruce barreled over the entrance desk and took cover. A squat looking security guard sat huddled close by, hands trembling on the trigger of his gun. Bruce took look and slipped the gun out of his fingers, placing in in front of himself.

"How did she get out?" he asked the guard.

"W-we had some m-maintenance done on her cell earlier t-today. One of the t-technicians f-forgot to reengage the barrier. She managed to get to a w-window, and the next thing I know, well . . . this!"

"Do you have a lighter?"

"You want a smoke at a time like this?" Bruce snatched up the bit of plastic the guard was fingering in his pocket, and vaulted back over the desk.

"Where'd you go?" demanded Selina, making mincemeat of incoming vines. "I was actually beginning to miss you a bit."

"Keep her busy!" grunted Bruce, striking a flame on the lighter. Dropping it, still lit, on a tangle of leaves and roots at his feet, he stomped it into pieces, and it bloomed in a radiant blue flower of fire.

The waving tentacles immediately dropped their attention from Selina and turned all eyes to Bruce. The voluminous voice around them hissed bitterly. Seeing a torrent of green flying straight for him, Bruce, pulled a tiny grenade from his belt and tossed it to Selina.

"What is this?" He couldn't answer—his mouth had just been clamped over by a stubborn length of ivy. Pressing the little red button on top, she watched it blink, once, twice, then, in a fit of realization, tossed it straight into the massive trunk in the center of the room. There was a deafening boom and a flash of light, which sent chunks of plants sailing every which way, knocking Selina back onto the floor.

A gap had opened in the tangled green mass, and inside it chocked an ashen faced Poison Ivy. Propelling her self at Ivy, Selina rolled from the ground into the air, claws outstretched.

Bruce couldn't see now, couldn't hear, couldn't breath. Every muscle of his body worked against the plants binding him, but he could feel them slowly crushing and crushing and crushing. Everything began to fade from red to black. Just as he could hold on no longer, though, he felt the vines slump off him to the ground.

Digging himself out of the green, Bruce sucked in air like it was already running away. As he looked up, Selina plopped Ivy down on her knees in front of him. Her grassy eyes rolled around loosely in their sockets—a purple bruise was beginning to fade in on the side of her head.

"Got her," said Selina, looking winded, but pleased with herself.

"Let me . . . let me go, you filthy . . . cat!" Ivy looked like she was starting to come back to her senses. Selina scoffed and leaned down into her ear.

"Now, we don't need any more of that do we, or . . ." she snatched up a burning stick from the withering pile of plants, and held it over a still green vine working it's way up behind Bruce, "we can get _hasty_." Ivy squirmed and yelped, and the vine went limp.

Bruce seized Ivy around the middle and lifted her into a fireman carry.

"Let's get her back into her cell!" Bruce called to the guard, who poked his head out uncertainly.

"I see why you like taking care of these Arkham folks so much," Selina told him as the marched back into Ivy's wing, "So much more exciting than the ones that come out of Blackgate."

"It's not about having fun, it's about getting them off the streets," Bruce chided.

"Yeah, but who says you can't have a bit of fun along the way?" Bruce scowled. She laughed. "You should try it sometime—that look must get hard to keep up so long."

"Always with the look," he muttered.

* * *

><p>"I don't really see what this has to do with me," said Ivy, more focused on the stray flower in her hand, blooming and receding as she spoke. "Jonathan Crane has never needed my help to concoct his foul mixtures before. Why should he start now?"<p>

"This one is much stronger, and you know it," said Bruce, "He would have needed all the help he could get, and who better than the country's leading toxicologist to make sure the gas wouldn't kill before it needed to."

"I'm sure he could handle it on his own," Ivy scoffed.

Bruce had reached his last nerve. They had been at Poison Ivy for nearly and hour without getting anything. He could see she was itching to say something, to brag—the edges of her lips kept jumping, like she was struggling to keep them at bay.

"_Disengage lie detector_," he muttered, and the little boxes the dotted his vision fizzled out. It wasn't working through the walls of the Ivy's cage.

Selina lay upon one of the window arches, cleaning bits of leaves and pulp out from under her nails. She hadn't said a word since they had entered. Bruce felt a bit of bitterness float up inside him, not entirely frustration with Ivy.

"Master Bruce," said Alfred's voice in his ear, "Master Grayson wishes me to inform you that the toxin analysis could take several additional hours. Several ingredients are unrecognizable."

"Thank you," Bruce sighed, "Keep the details coming." Ivy's ears seemed to perk up at this, and the flower froze in mid bloom. Bruce made his way over to Selina.

"It's going to take them a while to get the gas sample off my cape analyzed," he whispered. "We don't have anything to connect Ivy's chemical sources to Scarecrow's gas,"

"Damn," she said, almost nonchalantly.

"Fine," Bruce spat, "If you don't have anything to contribute—" Selina cut him off, shouting over to Ivy."

"Bad news, _Pamela_," she called, "Batman just had the gas identified. Turns out Crane threw in a bit of paraquat into the mix. And you know what that means . . ." Selina grinned devilishly at Ivy's terrified face.

"No! Why would he put an herbicide into fear gas?"

"It slows down brain function," Bruce said, catching on, "The brain begins to accept the toxin more readily." Ivy didn't want to believe it.

"I—no! That—that bastard! After all I did for him!"

"What did you help him with?" growled Bruce, putting his face up the the glass." Ivy bit her lip.

"Fine," Selina said, slipping toward the door, "I guess we could use a few less weeds in Gotham." Bruce turned to follow her. His heart beat like a sputtering boat motor in his chest—she was their only lead. Selina had just pulled open the wing door when:

"He wanted the key to one of my greenhouses!" Ivy yelped. "Said he wanted to use the hallucinogenic spores I've been experimenting on for a project of his own. Said he'd get me out of here for good if it worked." Bruce found himself in front of the cell again, resisting a sigh of relief. To his side, almost leaning against his rocky form, was Selina, a satisfied smirk spilling across her face.

"Did you give it to him?" he asked.

"Do you think they allow me to keep things like that in here? No, I told him who knew where it would be, though."

"And who is that?"

"The last person who brought me in. The one person who could get the key out of evidence and give it to him." Bruce scowled—a traitor.

"Who?" he demanded, voice shaking her worse than his hands could. She almost smiled, as if he was taking a bite into her favorite poisoned apple.

"Why, Jim Gordon, of course."


	4. Patience

Chapter 4

Bruce knelt at the edge of of the roof, head in his hands. He could see everything from here in delightful three hundred sixty degrees, including Commissioner Jim Gordon's home, which was plopped down right smack in the center. No lights were on, and no car sat in the driveway—probably a late night in the station . . . Bruce hoped.

This house was significantly smaller than the last, Bruce noticed. After his divorce with Barbara, he couldn't stand to stay under those haunted rafters. Gordon hardly spent much time there anyway, no need for decadence.

The minutes ticked by as if it pained them to do so. It was one of those rare nights when Bruce had hoped for some commotion, just so he would have something else to occupy his thoughts. He had known Jim for years, and the thought of him going crooked, even in times like these, made him sick to his stomach. He may be Gotham's Dark Knight, but Gordon stood high as the one in shining armor, leading the charge—or at least he had.

A skittering sound bounced up the alley behind him. Bruce slid out batarang and had just drawn back his arm when Selina flipped up onto the roof next to him, landing evenly on all fours. Her eyes swung to the batarang.

"Were you planning on throwing that my direction?"

"If I had to," muttered Bruce, turning back to the empty house. Selina shook her head.

Loosen up, Brucey," He glowered behind the cowl. She smirked and tossed him a small white package.

"What's this?" he said, trying to read the tiny print under the clouded moonlight.

"Ice cream sandwich. Eat it before it melts."

"You know I don't eat this stuff," Bruce told her exasperatedly.

"Bullshit," she said, "You've still got two of Alfred's brownies in your back pocket right now. The corner of his lipped twitched.

"Did you steal these?"

"Just eat it, you big baby!" Rolling his eyes, Bruce tore off the wrapper and took a bite out of it.

"Alfred's are sugar free," he mumbled between bites. Selina rolled her eyes before slipping down upon the generator behind her, letting he feet dangle over the side.

Several minutes passes in silence, punctuated only by loud slurps of Selina's tongue running over her lips, cleaning the last droplets of cream away. Bruce stared unblinkingly at Gordon's house, posed to leap into action, should a he hear the rumble of an engine. He chanced a look at the time on his communicator—4:30 AM. This was late, even for Gordon, he noted.

"A damn late night," he repeated out the corner of his mouth.

"What's that?" called Selina from her perch.

"Nothing."

"Do you want some company?"

"I'm fine," Bruce grumbled. He heard the clatter of fine tipped shoes dancing toward him. Selina lay down next to him, staring up at the stars. Her eyes didn't move—she just drank in the vastness of it all.

"So, what's big, scary Batman so cranky about tonight?" she teased, flipping over onto her side to face him. She had this look about her like she knew she she was playing with dynamite. Bruce turned burning eyes on her and he didn't bat an eye. He bit his lip.

"It's Gordon," he said, more to himself than her. "I've known him for years. More than once, he's been the only one I could trust besides Alfred. I don't want to believe he's helping Scarecrow—it just doesn't make sense!"

"Then what do you have to worry about?"

"What if I'm wrong, Selina? I've been wrong before. But this time . . . I don't know what I would do." Bruce's head fell heavily into his palms. He groaned softly into the mesh. "What if I've lost another friend like Harvey?" Selina sat up and curled an arm around him.

"Well, I've still got your back," she said. Bruce looked at her for a moment and for a moment was overcome by some rush of energy that felt oddly familiar.

In his mind's eye, he saw Selina's black locks bouncing with the wind over a brilliantly green field. The sun shone down upon her pale arms, basked her smile in a golden glow. He felt himself twitch at his hips and begin to lean in . . .

"_Master Bruce._" The dream began to fade. "_Master Bruce!_" Batman came rushing back into his body with the whispered, girlish notes of "_I'll wait_" still echoing in his head. Had he even left, though? Bruce didn't have time to ponder. He tapped the comm in his ear.

"Go, Alfred."

"I have a car with the commissioner's license plate leaving an apartment complex halfway across town."

"Is it him?" Bruce whispered.

"_Is it who?_" mouthed Selina. Bruce nodded his head toward Jim's house—her eyes grew wide.

"I can't tell, sir," said Alfred's voice. "I'm tracking him now." Bruce was never more glad that he had let Dick teach Alfred a few things about the Cave.

He and Selina waited in silence as Alfred tried to get a lock.

"Alright, Master Bruce, he's parked the car up on a pier, and now he's getting on . . . I can't tell who it is, sir. He's getting something out of the trunk." Bruce held his breath. "He's got a suitcase and what looks like some kind of hat."

"A mask?"

"Big and brown, sir."

"It's Scarecrow," Bruce told Selina. He's got Gordon's car. Which means—" They dove simultaneously off the rooftop.

"Master Bruce, it looks as though he's dumping the car into the harbor."

"We'll get to it later Alfred, thank you!" Alfred signed off and Bruce kicked Jim's door off it's hinges, sending it flying into the darkness.

"I thought bats couldn't enter a house without an invitation," Selina joked over sound of churning wood.

"Selina," growled Bruce, "you're thinking of vampires. Do you hear anything?" She froze, the smile on her face temporarily wiped.

"This way!" she called, charging into one of the backrooms. Bruce followed, and as he breached the doorway, he heard a muffled sigh from somewhere inside. Selina flipped the light switch on, bathing the apartment in cold orange light. She gasped.

Commissioner Jim Gordon lay huddled on the ground, hands and ankles strung together with wire and a rag stuffed into his mouth. Little cuts and bruises dotted what blanched flesh they could see. But what struck Bruce most was the eyes—wide, blue, and terrified. His whole face seemed to contort and twitch around them, as if trying to escape off his face out the window behind him.

Bruce dived over and ripped out the rag as Selina worked at the ties.

"Gordon?" Bruce said, trying to pierce the empty gaze, "James Gordon-what happened to you?"

"Barbara . . ." Gordon muttered through what sounded like choked, tearless sobs, "Don't shoot her . . . don't shoot her . . . Barbara . . . no!" Bruce waved his hand viciously in front of Gordon's face, but all he seemed to see were people and places long gone. "Barbara . . ."

"_Scan!_" Bruce said, swiping a finger across Gordon's glistening mustache. Before his eyes, lists of chemical compounds rushed by, disappearing rapidly, slowly working their way down to one bright white match_. Fear Compound 23 aka. "Nightmare Fuel"_, it read. _Unable to identify components._

"We've got to get him to a doctor, now!" Bruce hauled up Gordon and slung him over his shoulder. "Scarecrow's fed him the same stuff. He probably doesn't have much longer."

"Is there someone we can take him to?"

"I don't know," Bruce admitted, a sense of hopelessness beginning to overtake him. "I don't know."


	5. A Convincing Argument

Chapter 5

The sun was beginning to rise, and Jim Gordon was choking on his own screams.

Bruce grunted as he shifted the Commissioner's weight over to this bad side, resting his waist on the mound of sore flesh that made up his entire right side. Neither he nor Selina had broken their pace in over a half mile—he had forgotten how far his unbroken charge could take him when he needed it to. Still though, their exhaustion was catching up them. Neither had slept yet—another sandbag pulling them down into the concrete.

"Right up here?" Selina gasped, as an abandoned car garage slid into view in between apartment complexes. Bruce nodded, and led her over to a side door. As he touched it, the doorknob withdrew from the frame and a glowing touch pad grinned up at them—he pounded in the code so fast even she couldn't catch it.

She took a glimpse of his face, something she had been afraid to do since he set his eyes on Gordon's twitching body. It took her a moment to work out exactly what that look was in his eyes. Anxiety? Hate? Fury? Then it hit her like a crashing wave:

Fear.

Not the kind of fear that leaves you cowering in a corner, nor the approach kind that sucks the air out you like a vacuum with every step close. It was a fear that only Batman felt: the deep, bone chilling fear of the guardian—this was his city, his home. Losing a friend to it only further proved that how little control he really had.

In his eyes, she could see Jason, she could see Barbara, she could see Thomas and Martha, bleeding into the gutter.

Flipping the heavy switch on wall with a resounding clunk, Bruce stepped into the explosion of light, groping his way toward the lever on the floor. Tiles and floorboards fell away when it clicked in to place, and Selina stepped back, amazed, as a Batmobile rose from the newfound hole in the floor.

"How many of these things do you have around the city?" she asked, running her hand over the sleek paintwork. "These hideouts, I mean."

"Twelve," he said simply, maneuvering Gordon into the passenger's seat. The Commissioner looked worse by the minute, his skin sinking to the color of moist chalk. His speech was long past coherent. "They're strategically placed for tings like this." He paused for a moment after closing the door, gritting his teeth.

"Bruce . . . ?"

"Damn it!" he yelled without warning, "Damn it, damn it, damn it! This is my fault!" Selina approached him carefully.

"Bruce, he's going to be okay. You know that."

"And what if he's not? What if Gordon dies because I was too stupid to realize that he would never sell us out, sell anyone out." Bruce sank against the hood. "I should have trusted him. I knew he would never have worked with Crane. He would have trusted me," he finished weakly, "He always has." Selina set her jaw.

"Then prove to him that he still can," she said, "Crane used him against you, to distract you. But maybe you can use this against _him_." Bruce perked his head up.

"You have an idea?"

"We need to treat Gordon. To treat him, we need a neutralizer for the gas. If we have that, we can take Crane down from the inside. From his source." Bruce shook his head.

"Selina, listen, I know all this, I've been running it through my head since we left the house. You have to understand though, I don't have time to work it out, and I'm probably better than half the chemists willing to take this on. And look at Gordon! The only reason he's hung on as long as he has is through sheer will—he's probably got less than an hour before he's lost to us."

"Then we take him to somebody who's better than you. A lot better." Bruce shook his head again.

"I hardly think that Poison Ivy is going to be very willing to save the life of the man who brought her back to prison," Bruce said, inching toward the Batmobile. I don't even know if she would be able to reverse—"

"Bruce," Selina interrupted, "I wasn't talking about Ivy." Bruce stood, frozen in thought, running through the best doctors and chemists in Gotham . . . in Metropolis . . . in—then the name popped in front of his eyes, flooring his jaw.

"No," he muttered, "you can't mean—after all he did to you?"

"I do."

"No."

"Yes." Bruce grimaced. He knew she was right.

"Then let's hurry." Selina almost smiled and jumped into the Batmobile. Bruce sighed through pursed lips. "God help me."

* * *

><p>For the second time in the past twelve hours, the sharp turrets of Arkham Asylum filled Bruce's horizon like colossal sprouts tangling themselves into the clouds. Bruce slammed the car into park and dashed around the building, leaving Selina in the car to tend to Gordon. He had begun to go into a series of shakes and cold sweats, and that thought alone drove Bruce's sapped legs onward.<p>

He grappled his way up to one of the higher walls, and pressed his ear close to the crumbling stone, hearing the methodical tick-tock of footsteps and frenzied bellows through the cracks. As he moved across the surface, he listened to the sounds of inmates slowly fade and fade to silence.

Bruce took a long, slow breath which seemed to hurt even deeper than his broken ribs, and set three small charges where the cracks had widened the most. Every part of Bruce seemed to be telling him to leave now and take his chances with a serum of his own, but every part of Batman screamed for him to stay, demanded the assurance of Jim's life. Batman knew this needed to be done. Bruce gulped. Batman scowled.

They both pressed the detonator.

A skull shaking crack echoed through the morning and chunks of brickwork sailed into to the ground. Bruce moved quickly, throwing himself into the powder choked air, hitting a point on his cowl for heat vision. As the figure on the opposite side of the room charged toward the hole, Bruce reached out and grabbed him by the scruff of his jumpsuit. He felt a fist collide with the side of his head, bringing stars before his eyes, but he held tight, and tapped off the vision setting.

The smoke and dusk settled around them, and the yellowed threads of old bandages began to become all too clear. His startlingly blue eyes pierced through the cowl and into Bruce's heart. The figure's growl rivaled Bruce's best.

"Bruce Wayne."

"Tommy Elliot."

"You know what they call me now. I'm no longer Tommy." Bruce twinged under the words of his old friend.

"I've heard."

"Say it," he whispered.

"You're still Tommy to me," Bruce said, pulling Elliot closer to his glaring eyes.

"Say it!" Tommy snarled.

"No." Bruce set his face solid as the granite in the walls. "I don't need _Hush_. I need Thomas Elliot. Now." Elliot's face curled at the lip.

"What if I don't want to help?"

"I'm sure I can make a convincing argument," Bruce said, narrowing his eyes. Inside, the sound of thundering footsteps grew closer—the guards were on their way. Elliot looked over and smiled.

"Try me,_ Batman_. Or we can just wait here for the guards to see you breaking me out. _Wonderful_ press after the whole Poison Ivy incident this morning.."

"You don't need this," Bruce said, gesturing at the cell, "You've done terrible things to this city, but Arkham's not going to help you. You help me one last time, and I'll let you go and leave the city to start a new life. If you can make yourself a new face, you can make yourself a new life." Tommy bit his lip. "What do you say? Would you help an old friend in exchange for your freedom?" The footsteps were close now. They had only a few seconds left. "Decide quickly."

"Can I borrow some clothes?" Tommy asked snidely, giving him an odd sort of look Bruce couldn't place. Bruce nodded curtly, the whites of his eyes glimmering with a hint of some long lost closeness, and dove off, Tommy in his arms, down as fast as he could, every part of both Bruce and Batman praying that he wasn't too late.


	6. Reunion

**A/N: This isn't my best chapter-it's old and I haven't had much chance to revise it as much as I wanted to. Thanks for dealing with it! Reviews are always appreciated though.**

Chapter 6

Bruce hung limply over his third steaming mug of coffee, trying to get Jim Gordon's screams out of his head. He looked up at the pallid Commissioner, who finally lay still and silent, his chest slowly rising and falling with a calm ease. Tommy Elliot had given him a sedative as soon as they had arrived, hoping to slow the toxin's progress.

In the twenty minutes since they had arrived, Tommy, aided by a disgruntled Alfred had turned the Batcave into makeshift hospital. Needles, tubes, and sloshing liquids littered the open space, with Tommy bending over each of them in turn, moving with an almost desperate speed, the world around him forgotten. Alfred sat back near Gordon, checking his vitals.

Behind him, Selina lay fast asleep on the hood of the Batmobile, snuggling up against the warmth. She almost seemed to purr with each breath she took. Bruce almost smiled. She seemed so much sweeter when she wasn't throwing up that wall of hers.

Alfred's careful footsteps clacked toward the terminal. It took every drop of energy he had to give him the courtesy of a face to face conversation.

"How's Gordon?" Bruce managed, gulping down more coffee.

"He is stable, at least," said Alfred, taking his familiar posture. "Master Bruce, are you sure about this?" Bruce sighed, glancing over at Tommy, bent over and peering into a microscope.

"I'm sorry he bothers you, but Tommy is Gordon's best hope right now."

"No, I trust Master Elliot almost as much as your father to provide proper surgery—I meant letting him go free afterward." Bruce sat up, alarmed.

"I didn't say—"

"Forgive me sir," Alfred interrupted, "but I doubt he would be working so hard to save the Commissioner if there was not a lucrative reward waiting in the wings. You didn't have to tell me. It was apparent." For a moment, Bruce sat there in stunned silence, shifting his eyes guiltily.

"It was the only way I could assure he would help me. I only hope he takes my advice and tries to start again somewhere far away from here." Alfred put a steady hand on Bruce's shoulder, feeling the flesh underneath quiver tenderly.

"I trust you know what's best," he said, warming Bruce with his eyes, "Especially when it comes to your friends."

"You know he's not my friend anymore. That died when he became Hush." Alfred was silent for a moment, not thinking, just letting the Bruce's frosted words wash over him.

"I don't believe he would be here if that was true, Master Bruce. Neither of you know how to forget what used to be there—an iron forged bond that will take more than a facelift to break." He clapped Bruce on the back and snatched up his coffee mug. "I think you've had enough of _that_, by the way. I'll bring you some tea." Bruce didn't utter a sound of resistance—it was a hopeless crusade.

"Two sugars," he mumbled over his shoulder.

"And a cream," Alfred finished, starting up the stairs. Bruce actually managed to smile this time.

Bruce groaned and yawned widely, stretching himself out of the chair. As he went to sit back down he slipped on the backing and fell with a clatter to the floor, sending a burning wave of pain up into his lungs and liver. Tommy didn't pause to find the source of the noise. Bruce growled and flung himself up, stumbling over to Tommy's workspace. He didn't seem to notice until Bruce was right behind him.

"I don't have time to play any of your games right now, Wayne, if you want your friend to live." Bruce took a step back.

"I'd—I'd just like thank you for helping me," Bruce said, "For helping him."

"Not doing it for you," Elliot muttered, all the while making little pen notes on his hand, "surely the world's 'greatest detective' should have realized that. I just want to get out of here. It smells like you keep bats in the rafters." Bruce glanced up at the darkened ceiling, picking up couple distinct, infuriated squeaks

"Just thought I'd extend a common courtesy," Bruce said, "for old times sake." Elliot rolled his eyes, but said nothing. "How is he?"

"Dying," Tommy said bluntly, "But that sedative I gave him should keep him going until I can synthesize an antidote. He should fully recover with a little psychiatric help."

"Good," Bruce said, stewing in awkward fumes.

"I'm sure your friend over there isn't too happy to see me," Tommy said, motioning toward Selina. "I know she has a good _heart,_ but . . ." His snickered at his own joke. Bruce's lip twitched—in his mind's eye, he could see Hush holding up Selina's glistening heart, freshly drawn, calling out to Batman to reclaim it. That seemed so long ago.

"Actually," Bruce said, "_she _was the one who gave me the idea to come break you out."

"Oh," was all Elliot could think of. The entrance slid open, and Alfred appeared at the top of the steps. Bruce sighed with pained relief and went to meet him.

"Your tea, Master Bruce." Bruce reached down to take the tray from him, but Alfred clucked and slid it out of his reach. "You pay me for a reason," he said, "you don't have to apologize for all this." Bruce smiled sheepishly—only Alfred could manage that. He took his tea and gulped it down, feeling his throat scalding all the while. "Master Elliot, I have one for you as well."

"Take a seat and enjoy it, Alfred," Tommy said, shooting at him his first warm look in what seemed like years, "You deserve a break more than any of us."

"I insist," Alfred began, shaking his head, but Bruce interrupted him.

"No, he's right," Bruce said, gesturing to his seat, which Alfred took begrudgingly—but after five seconds, his nestled in and seemed looser than Bruce had ever seen him.

"My God, Master Bruce, you have found yourself some good amenities. I haven't felt a chair this luxurious since the war, when I was given the honor to be personally invited into the Colonel's private quarters." He seemed to relish this simple joy of telling the story—Bruce made a sober mental note to spend more time just chatting with Alfred.

A half hour of increasingly fascinating army tales later, Alfred lay back in silence, the ears of both Bruce and Tommy clamoring for more. Bruce sighed, knowing he couldn't afford to stay any longer. He lifted Selina gingerly off the hood of the Batmobile and lay her on a mass of spare blankets he had found stuffed in a corner. As she touched the floor, her eyes blinked blearily open.

"Where are you going?" she muttered, rubbing her eyes.

"I need to drag Gordon's car out of the river."

"I'm coming," she said immediately, starting to sit up, but he held her down.

"No," he said as soothingly as he could remember how to, "I need you to stay here and make sure he doesn't do anything funny. Alfred's got an eye on him right now, but I need somebody else to be here just to be safe—can I trust you?"

"Yeah, sure," she said, gripping his arm. "Be safe."

"I will."

* * *

><p>Bruce sat back in the Batmobile, resisting the urge to grumble further. Jim Gordon's waterlogged car sat in front of him, mocking him. After spending two difficult hours trying to start up the old crane and physically hauling the car into place, and after yet another hour picking the car clean for hints of why Scarecrow would have wanted it, he had come up with nothing, the car had washed away any traces of anything he could track, and nothing had been stowed away inside it.<p>

It was all a ruse. A distraction. Crane had snatched up another three hours by simply stealing and disposing of the car—he knew Batman would be tracking it, he had to have. And Bruce had fallen right into the trap. He cursed under his breath. He was better than this, and he knew it.

Bruce looked over at his communicator and debated informing Alfred ahead of time—give them something to worry about until he got back. He sighed. They needed to know, so they could start a trail. But his arm . . . his arm wouldn't move.

He tried again, threw his whole body at the device, but all he managed was a halfhearted slide across the dashboard. Just too tired . . . His eyes jumped to the air monitor—an orange light shone out from words his eyes couldn't focus on.

"What did you . . . put in there?" he slurred. Finally, a thin film on the tip of his finger caught his focus before it faded back out of sight. What remained of his wakefulness deduced the rest—the car had been . . . it had been . . . something . . . His body needed sleep—sleep he didn't have time for, but . . . It seemed so . . . delicious right about now.

Summoning up the last of his strength as his eyelids drooped, he managed to brush the autopilot button, before sinking down into the depths of sleep. Deeper, deeper, deeper, finally fading into the sweet sound of Gotham air rushing past his windows.


	7. Delays & Discoveries

Chapter 7

The whole Earth spun round and round above Bruce's head, jumping in and out of shadows as he decided whether or not it was worth opening his eyes. After all, it was so warm, his body argued, sinking deeper into fluffed nothingness. He deserved a good rest, didn't he?

Didn't he? He remembered something weighing down on his dull limbs, some ache of incessant responsibility. It could wait. This was pleasant. This was freedom. His eyes retreated from their skirmish and fluttered to a close, breathing a sigh of relief. A frail music filled the space behind his ears, and Bruce stood on the cliff, poised to dive back into the sea of dreams.

THWACK! The music shattered—everything grew sore—the air was cold again. He tried to steady his mind. THWACK! His eyes blinked once, opening a vacuum—broken beams of light darted in, harsh and impatient. THWACK! The Batmobile took shape around him, seats and blinking monitors forming a thick black cell. For a moment, Bruce thought he was back in the decaying Gotham Penitentiary, watching Selina bleed to death.

Wait. His rebooting mind pulled the emergency brake. The Gotham Penitentiary. Of course.

THWACK! Bruce jolted, putting a crick in his neck as his head swung to the left. Dick Grayson's scowling face filled the window, the neck of a baton dividing it.

"_Open the door_," he mouthed, eyes brightening through the visage of Nightwing. Bruce fumbled at the handle, finally turning it just the right way. The door caved under his weight and he fell hard onto the stone floor of the Cave. A pair of nimble hands met him, poking and prodding.

"How do you feel, Master Bruce?" Alfred's whisper thundered. Bruce's ears rang with every clatter of stray gravel, working themselves out of sleep.

"Groggy and sore," groaned Bruce, "Head feels like fire."

"Have you been poisoned?" Bruce tried to summon enough consciousness to decide.

"I don't think so—gassed I think. Some sort of homemade anesthetic, judging by the severiity of the side effects." He tried to sit up, but Alfred held him in place.

"Give yourself five minutes to stabilize." Dick knelt down beside him, looking over his sorry state.

"Looks like you should have called me earlier."

"Don't be stupid," said Bruce, "you know just as well as I exactly how important your role in the Titans is." He paused, considering. "Well, I might know a _bit_ more."

"Nonetheless, you need help." Selina edged into the frame, purring softly.

"Damn right. Looks like you did a bit more than drag that car up, eh Brucy?" Bruce shook his head as he stretched his legs and arms.

"The car was a dead end. It was a trap that I didn't see coming. Gassed the car as soon as I got in. Didn't set off the sensors till it was too late. How long was I out?" They shrugged at each other, checking watches. Alfred shifted uncomfortably.

"Approximately fourteen hours sir, before we were able to wake you?" Bruce's insides turned to ice. That set him at two in the morning, Halloween, as he figured it. They had less than a day. He tried to sit up again, but was pushed back down. "You failed to respond to anything, and we knew we would be unable to pry the cab open."

"How did you know that? I don't think I covered the security systems on this new model with any of you."

"You didn't," said Dick, holding up a pair of scorched gloves. "Lucky I have spare suit bits here." Bruce nodded in apology. Dick understood.

"Where's Tommy?" Bruce suddenly demanded, sitting up before anyone could stop him. A bleary wave of nausea washed over him. "And Gordon?"

"Not to worry," Elliot's voice rumbled, as he reappeared from the shadows, "the Commissioner should be back on his feet in no time. And," he picked up a bottle full of a strange liquid the color of ice and scrap of paper from one of the tables he had been working on, "I have your cure. This, released in gas form, should affix with the toxin and condensate the entire cloud into a harmless liquid, rendered useless in any form." Bruce set his jaw.

"Good work. I guess you're free to go, unless you want to stay and . . ." he left the sentence dangling upon looking into his old friend's hollow eyes.

"No, I don't wish to involve myself further. I will pack what things I have and take the next plane to New York. It's quieter than Metropolis this time of year—I can get a hold on things there and transfer somewhere permanent. I always enjoyed London . . ." His eyes trailed off overseas. "Oh!" he said, snapping back to the present. "I'm taking part of this for myself, just in case he comes after me. Don't worry, you'll still have more than enough, and I'll dispose of it before boarding the plane. God help me if I could get that on board . . ."

"Alright," Bruce said "Do you need anything? Alfred can—"

"No thank you," Tommy cut him off, "I'll manage on my own. I _always_ have." Bruce nodded, dragged himself off the ground and faced the others.

"It looks like Scarecrow knows we're getting close, and is doing anything in his power to slow us down. He's moved to using sleeping gas, knowing we were close to preventative measures, trying and succeeding to keep us out of action. We're going to give you all a dose of the antigen just in case he tries anything, but I wouldn't worry about anything worse than a few thugs coming after you." Dick waved a hand.

"Despite that, he's still got a huge edge on us! We don't know where the gas storage is and we won't have an easy time searching around once daylight hits."

"You're right," Bruce admitted, "but we have a lead." His eye fell upon Selina, who lit up.

* * *

><p>The Gotham State Penitentiary howled and hummed, wind whipping in through broken windows and flooding the halls with the ghosts of the groaning city. The clatter that followed Bruce kicking down the bolted doors echoed eerily through the wall of silence, putting everyone's nerves on edge. Dick cracked his knuckles, eyes straining for hidden thugs.<p>

Bruce strode far ahead of them, gazing intently at the floor, looking for signs of recent movement. First floor—gang graffiti. Second floor—a crumbling skeleton. Third—whistles of scurrying rats. Halfway down the hallway of the fourth floor, Bruce froze suddenly and knelt to the ground, running a steady finger over a dark scuff mark.

"See something?" Selina asked, creeping close. Bruce looked up at her and sighed. Her face was sunken in and lined, deep purple bags weighing down ghostly white cheeks. She couldn't take much more of this, will power could only take her so far—a golden spark glittered still in her eyes, breathing like an ember removed from the fire. He admired her persistence, but even he wasn't able to hold up very well after this long.

"Yes, the mark is off the boots Crane wears—synthetic military grade rubber. He held me in this hall." In fact, Bruce noticed, in the cell to his left, who's door was flung wide open, all that remained in the window frame was a few crooked shards.

After nearly an hour of nose to the ground trailing of a near invisible trail, the group found themselves inside a cavernous room that smelled distinctly of diesel fuel. Selina scowled.

"They're gone."

"Freshly, by the look of it," Dick added, "Must be mobilizing." Selina hissed.

"Of course! They're always one step ahead of us! We'll never catch up!" She stomped over to center of the room and growled. "They choose _now_ to be careful? Fuck!" In a fit of anger, she sprinted at the wall and kicked it as hard as she could—something clicked loudly into place within the stone, drowning out Selina's stream of curses.

"What was that?" Bruce said, twice as alert. Dick strode up the the spot Selina had kicked and ran his fingers over it.

"There's a dip right here—" he began, but gasped as a panel of stone slipped back into the rest of the wall and a tiny metal panel emerged, a keyboard mounted in the middle. The three of them approached it with care.

"What's that for?" Selina said, cocking her head. "Why is it still active if they've left? Unless . . ."

"You might be onto something," said Bruce hope snaking its way into his voice. Selina beamed. "Any ideas for the passcode?"

"Passcode?" Dick asked.

"Obviously," Bruce said, flipping through the cowl's view modes, seeing if one could detect fingerprints. He settled on it, but immediately switched it off. "Should have known they would wear gloves. I've got no letters to go on."

"Why's that a problem?" asked Selina, and before Bruce could stop her, her fingers darted across the pad in a flurry.

"What are you doing?" Bruce said, pulling her back, "That could set off security!" Selina smiled and shook her head.

"No it won't." She tapped the enter key. Dick crossed his fingers. Seconds passed. "Wait for it."

All of a sudden, the floor rumbled beneath them and split down the middle, spreading beneath the rest of the stone and opening into a dark hole. Hushed voices sputtered below and the sound of metal thudding on metal rose to their ears. Bruce's jaw drooped.

"How did you know?" he asked, turning to face Selina. Dick's seemed to have nothing to add. "What did you type?" Selina grinned.

"Trick or treat. Easy."

Without warning, an engine roared below them and something shot up, rushing toward them like a dragon. As it broke the surface, light fell upon its mass—a colossal aircraft imbued on the bottom a massive steel storage tank.

"The gas!" yelled Bruce over the engine, "there it is! He's moving!" The ship crashed through the ceiling, sending chunks of metal and cement hailing to earth. "It's rising fast! Come on!" With a flick of his wrist, Bruce snagged his grapple from his belt and shot it up at the ship, feeling it snag on the side. Selina grabbed onto his side, but as they were thrust skyward, Dick was left below, quickly disappearing into the shadows. "Damn it," Bruce cursed.

The streets and buildings fell out beneath them and as the night air closed around them, Bruce and Selina looked into each others eyes. This was it.


	8. Last Chance Choices

**A/N: Well, here it is, the last chapter of this story. Thank you to anyone who reviewed, and I hope you'll give the comment section one last try before setting this story aside for good.**

Chapter 8

Tommy Eliot wasn't looking where he was going. Step after step, he trudged down the sidewalk, letting it all seep in. He was free, free from prison, free from crime, free from his past, and most importantly, free from the scorching eyes of Batman forever. Anything was possible. With the reinstated cash in his bank account, he could do anything, go anywhere, create any new identity with a swish of the scalpel. Complete and utter freedom.

He couldn't stand it.

His whole life, Elliot had lived with some shadow in the corner of his eye, some force he could drive himself against. It was that resistance that fueled him—first, his parents, then Bruce—the ones who stood in his way. But now they were gone.

All these years, he had tried to hurt Bruce, hurt him deeper than the death of his parents ever could, take away all he had. Take away Batman. But he'd failed, and in Elliot's lowest moment, Bruce had forgiven him, given him a chance to begin again as a free man. The trust it must have taken, the agony that must have wracked his soul. And to save a friend as well—two birds.

Tommy hated and loved him all at once. Under the inky eyes of that cowl, he could see his brother again. The brother he had always and never had.

He was shattered out of though in the middle of gulping down emotion by a booming crash over the horizon. As he looked up and watched, the dark ship of some terrible aircraft rose into the sky beneath the moonlight, a form dangling beneath by a line. Though it was miles off, he knew what it was, and who's cape that was flowing from the end of the cable.

* * *

><p>Bruce's arm was one good tug away from being ripped from its socket.<p>

"Argh, God!" he groaned, struggling to link the line to his belt. Selina stretched an arm up and together, they were able to raise their masses enough for Bruce to connect the hooks, and he flopped down to the end of the line, clipping the grapple gun back onto his belt and wrapping both free arms around Selina, who had been slowly sleeping through his grasp. Tapping the belt, they line began to draw itself in, dragging them slow toward the aircraft.

"Are you alright?" Selina asked, looking into his drained eyes. He nodded, collecting himself. They had a lot more ahead of them.

"Are you?" She smiled.

"Naturally." With a final thrust, Bruce slid Selina up onto the wing of the aircraft, which she dug into with her claws. Crawling up himself, Bruce bent low, feeling to torrent of wind flooding over him, dragging him back by his cape.

"Can't you cut that thing loose?" Selina shouted over the rush of air. "It's going to take you of the edge!" Bruce shook his head vigorously, throwing himself one of the doors of the aircraft, extending a hand to her, which she took.

"Not if you want a way out of here alive." Together, the managed to pry open the door, and as papers and bits of wood billowed out the open cabin, they dove in, landing hard on the floor. Bruce reached up and slammed the door, bolting it. Pulling themselves up, the stared into the blackness ahead of them.

"Your lead, Batman," Selina said, starting off anyways. Bruce stood still for a moment, playing with his cowl. "Batman? You coming? I thought bats had echolo—" She broke off as Bruce barreled past her, taking he by the wrist as he did so. The whole room appeared before him in the blue-green haze of nightvision.

"Do you see anyone?" she asked, yanking away from his grasp.

"No, but he knows we're coming for him."

"How do you know?"

"Listen," Bruce said. Selina fell silent, listening to the steady whoosh of the air conditioning flow out the side vents. Her ears perked and twisted, but she couldn't pick out anything of the vents.

"All I can pick out is the air conditioning," she said.

"He doesn't have air conditioning," Bruce said, "He's been pumping fear gas into the room for the past five minutes or so, before we even got in." Selina's eyes grew wide and she clamped her hand of her mouth. "Don't worry," Bruce said, "it won't affect you."

"How do you know?" she gasped through her fingers.

"Do you feel fine right now?" Selina paused, thought for a moment and nodded. "Then the serum is working. We've been breathing it it for a while now."

"Good," she said, taking the lead again, to make up for her lag. "Good."

"Not exactly." Bruce muttered, fumbling for the door handle at the far wall. Selina pushed him aside and uncovered and picked the padlock holding the lever closed.

"What do you mean?" Bruce flipped the lever upward and the door fell innward.

"Never mind. Hope that I'm wrong." Selina felt a tight knot crumple together in her abdomen—his hunches were rarely wrong.

Up a set of stairs and down a hallway, the pair volleyed through a final door, landing poised before a shallow pilot's room, a panel of switches and knobs plastered below the wide open slate window, and before it all, the lanky figure of Jonathan Crane stood, hidden behind his Scarecrow mask. He clapped his palms together.

"Batman, Batman. I expected you quicker. Get tangled up in a few of my little webs, did you? And with the Cat on the assist? Disappointing. I thought all those blissfully unaware partiers would have held a bit higher on your list than that old Commissioner. Guess even you have a bit of a weak spot for that kind of petty loyalty, hm?" Bruce stood steady, letting Crane get it all out before taking him down. Judging by their location, they still had ten minutes before they reached any major populations outside the factory district.

Crane opened a phone and hit a button.

"Looks like it's all over folks. I suggest you get out of there before the police arrive. Time to go, it seems." With that, he flipped open a cockpit window and tossed the phone out to the streets below."Well, this has been great fun hasn't it?" Crane said, eyes alight behind the mask. "I'll come quietly, shall I? I suspect you can put us down, can't you Bats?" Bruce froze, thinking. "Bats? You all there? I know my sleeping gas is rough stuff, but—" Eyes snapping open, Bruce rushed forward and plucked Crane up by the throat, slamming him against the window behind him, sending his mask askew. Crane choked out a laugh.

"Oh, figured it out, have we?" he gasped, shaking his mask off his grinning face.

"What is it?" Selina demanded, unintended panic flooding her voice.

"Should I tell her, or should you?" Crane said.

"_What is it?_"

"The gas isn't on here," Bruce said, tightening his grip on Crane's neck.

"What do you mean?" Selina said, "We saw the tanks coming up! There was gas in the other room!"

"Water vapor, probably," Bruce said, "Just enough to last long enough to keep us on here, coming for him. It was a distraction, and I fell for it." Crane positively squealed with delight.

"Tell me," he said, "How did you know?"

"You forgot to turn on the respirator inside your mask," Bruce growled. "You would want to make sure you were safe from any escaping gasses from below."

"Ah, forgot about that," Crane muttered. "No matter though! We have the perfect view of those sleepy, quiet neighborhoods about to be thrust into an eternal nightmare!" Bruce snarled and slammed him against the glass again, cracking it into a thousand tiny spiderwebs.

"Can't, sorry!" Crane choked, "Already tossed away my phone, and you know how hard those are to replace! Trucks should be there any minute now. That's a bit of nightmare fuel, isn't it?" He chuckled darkly at his own joke.

"Want me to try and convince him?" Selina said, claws sliding out of her gloves. Bruce dropped Crane heavily to the floor, who buckled over laughing.

"No use," said Bruce, grasping his temples within a vice, "He can't do anything about it. He's no use to us."

"Right you are," she said, throwing a fist into Crane's cheek.

Suddenly, Bruce's comlink beeped to life.

* * *

><p>Tommy was standing, watching the black shape drift across the clouds, when the rush of wind ruffled his coat—he turned to see a semi truck barreling past him at high speed. In that slow blink of a moment, Elliot saw the words plastered upon the side of the colossal tank: <em>Crane Industrials<em>. It was as if all the pieces of the puzzle came together in one miniscule, sparkling moment.

Instantly, Elliot pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number for Bruce's comlink he had overheard from Alfred. Listening to it ring, he scanned the streets, looking for exactly what he needed as cars flew past/ Bruce picked up.

"Batman here."

"Bruce!" Tommy said over the sound of rushing traffic, "Are you missing a truck?"

"You can't be serious . . ."

"I'll take that as a yes," Tommy said, "It's heading east on Maplebrook Avenue. I'm going after it—there's suburbs in a couple miles."

"You . . . you are?" Bruce said, sounding amazed. Tommy hung up, gritted his teeth, and threw himself onto a passing motorcycle, dumping its rider off and speeding through traffic toward the truck.

Narrowly dodging a number of cars, Elliot lined himself along the side of the tanker, and before they the driver saw him, he launched himself up onto the tank. The driver heard the thunk he had made and with a viscous stare at Elliot out the window, he began weaving in and out of his lane, scattering cars and tossing Elliot around. Still, he clung on and worked his vial of serum out of his pocket, along with a hidden knife.

With a fluid motion, he stabbed the tank with all the strength of Hush, digging a hole in the thin metal, which spouted the gas within straight into his face. As reality around him began to fall apart and a darker shadow hooded the sky, he uncorked and tossed the vial through the hole, into the tank.

As he fell lost grip and fell thickly to earth, he thought he saw someone swoop down from the sky and into the truck's cabin. And as the truck slowed to a stop, screaming faces and flaming lights swarmed his vision and everything fell away.

* * *

><p>"Why did he do it?" Selina said, standing beside Bruce as medics carted the screaming figure of Tommy Elliot away, "After all we've put him through?" Bruce sighed.<p>

"I'm not sure. But feel like I should have told him not to. Forced him not to."

"Why?"

"I feel like I betrayed him. Telling him he can go, only to lead him right back to Arkham with all this."

"Bruce," Selina said, "it's not your fault. He did this on his own, to save those people."

"I thought you said you didn't know why he did it," Bruce pointed out.

"I don't. But I hope that's why." Dick Grayson approached, a grin on his face.

"The tanker's all empty, and so are all of Scarecrow's hideouts, from what the cops tell me," Dick said. "You all right, Bruce?"

"Yeah," Bruce said, "I'm fine."

"You know, they should be able to take care of Elliot . . ."

"I'm fine," Bruce insisted. Dick shrugged and wandered off back to the police.

"Are you?" Selina asked, looking him in the eyes. Bruce scanned the horizon—the sun was coming up, bleeding a brilliant red-orange onto the faces of pumpkins. Halloween had arrived.

"I will be," Bruce said, turning away. "I'll see you later tonight for patrol. Alfred's probably got breakfast started, and I think that's what I need right now." As he started off, he heard her mutter:

"Okay." Bruce stopped.

"How about you come and join us. Alfred makes a damn good hot chocolate." Selina smiled, and with a click of her heels, started after Bruce as they ran to escape the coming day.

THE END


End file.
